a quick edit: I don't wanna see any tl;dr there won't be one...read it...its important.
HOW COULD YOU?
By Jim Willis 2001
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you
laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a
couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I
was"bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but
then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My housebreaking took a
little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked
on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and
listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life
could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park,
car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is
bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you
to come home at the end of the day. Gradually, you began spending more time
at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I
waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and
disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee
at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not
a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her
affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the
human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by
their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only
she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time
banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them,
but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur
and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes,
investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything
about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent --
and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into
their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we
waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that
you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me.
These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I
had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every
expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and
they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made
the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your
only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the
animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness.
You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good
home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand
the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed
"No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and
what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about
love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a
good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my
collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one,
too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your
upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home.
They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy
schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago.
At first,whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it
was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream ...
or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save
me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention
of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner
and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I
padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet
room.
She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to
worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was
also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my
nature, I was more concerned about her.
The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that,
the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around
my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way
I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic
needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing
through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and
murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry."
She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went
to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or
have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from
this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to
her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at
her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you
and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
A note from the author:
If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did
to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the
millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in American and Canadian
animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a
noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the
copyright notice.
HOW COULD YOU?
By Jim Willis 2001
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you
laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a
couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I
was"bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but
then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My housebreaking took a
little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked
on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and
listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life
could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park,
car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is
bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you
to come home at the end of the day. Gradually, you began spending more time
at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I
waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and
disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee
at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not
a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her
affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the
human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by
their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only
she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time
banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them,
but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur
and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes,
investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything
about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent --
and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into
their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we
waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that
you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me.
These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I
had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every
expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and
they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made
the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your
only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the
animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness.
You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good
home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand
the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed
"No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and
what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about
love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a
good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my
collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one,
too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your
upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home.
They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy
schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago.
At first,whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it
was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream ...
or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save
me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention
of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner
and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I
padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet
room.
She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to
worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was
also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my
nature, I was more concerned about her.
The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that,
the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around
my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way
I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic
needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing
through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and
murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry."
She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went
to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or
have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from
this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to
her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at
her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you
and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
A note from the author:
If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did
to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the
millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in American and Canadian
animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a
noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the
copyright notice.
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